


(Until I'm) Head Over Heels

by DovahDoes



Series: Midnight Travels [2]
Category: Hellboy (Movies 2004-2008)
Genre: (if somewhat freshly established), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Background Nuala/Abe, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, John purposefully annoying Nuada, M/M, Nuada embarrassing/flustering John in return, Or at least an, Possessive Nuada, Reincarnation, Smut, Soulmates, Valentine's Day, aka. a perfect circle, everyone ships it, or - Freeform, or what-have-you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23069080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DovahDoes/pseuds/DovahDoes
Summary: It's Valentine's Day at the BPRD, and John is one of Those People who actuallyenjoysthe hyper-commercialized holiday.  He's just not all too sure about how Nuada will take this blatantly... human tradition.(Spoiler: Nuada's... kind ofreallyinto it, so long as it involves John.)This fic features: a non-traditional bouquet as a gift, a complete stranger who 'ships it', a romantic pic-a-nic, and a gratuitous amount of smut.  Like, almost a whole chapter of it.Oh, and alittlebit of plot, or whatever, I guess.*[[This is a sequel toA Walk To Remember.]]
Relationships: John Myers/Nuada
Series: Midnight Travels [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657852
Comments: 5
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Title's from one of my fav 80s band's songs. c: #shockingIknow)
> 
> And yes, you saw right: this is a Valentine's Day fic.... that I am posting 1/3 of the way through March. > . >
> 
> Anywho, this is the sequel to [A Walk to Remember](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18691999), which means I apparently have [a new JxN series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657852), now??
> 
> (Lastly, if you wanna cut to the chase, **the smut is in chapter 2**. [I see some of y'all. ;o ] )

Meeting up with Nuada in the BPRD’s sizable gym a few days each week in the very early morning so that they can work out together is definitely a treasured part of John’s post-New Years routine.

Today, however, on the 14th of February, he probably should have begged off of the pre-dawn run he and his insanely fit boyfriend had taken around the frozen grounds of the BPRD base, since he has an extra task to complete _before_ heading in for his regular shift (and _after_ a shower, of course). 

Of course, time does not cooperate with his plans all too well, and he ends up in a bit of a rush by the time he’s leaving his quarters with his hands full.

Nerve-wrackingly, there’s only a fifteen or so minute gap in John’s usual pre-shift routine wherein he can feasibly attempt to spring any sort of surprise on his immortal, extremely canny boyfriend, and awkwardly glancing at his watch reveals that the _actual_ amount of remaining free time is closer to ten or eleven minutes, at this point.

“Shi— ow!” he exclaims, as he readjusts his arm after checking the time, fumbling his grip on the squat, marbled clay pot containing a small succulent garden.

The card and envelope he’s been trying to keep hold of between his thumb and the lip of the large planter separate and skitter away from his feet. Exhaling in anguished exasperation, he stands there, at a loss as to how he’ll be able to retrieve the stationary items without having to lower the cumbersome vessel full of precisely arranged flora all the way to the hallway floor.

As he agonizes of his pitiable circumstance, he scooches his left hand to a better position, since one of the pricklier plants had managed to scratch up his knuckles when he’d instinctively secured his grip a few seconds ago.

In the next moment, though, St. Valentine himself must deign to finally smile down upon John, because the door across the hall opens up to reveal his sleep-rumpled across-the-way neighbor looking perplexedly at the bright pink envelope labeled ‘Nuada’ that had smoothly slid halfway into his quarters.

“John?” he half-yawns, picking up first the envelope that sits halfway over his room’s threshold and then the card that lays nearby. “These yours, man?”

Watching his coworker briefly squint blearily at the two items before sliding the card back into its brightly-coloured home, John feels his cheeks get a bit warm, more than a bit embarrassed about the cheesy, stereotypical heart-adorned designs all over the cardstock.

“Uh, yeah— trying to, y’know, hand these off before I clock in, but I think I bit off more than I can chew trying to do everything in one trip,” he says, chuckling sheepishly, flushing a bit brighter. “Anyway, could you maybe just… wedge that back in between my hand and this pot?”

Beginning to take in exactly how many varieties of plants are cohabitating in one place, the bespectacled younger man strategically uses one of his worn flip flops as a wedge to keep his door open (a practice he’s taken seriously ever since Myers had told him about his crazy Christmas lock-out story, several weeks back) and steps out fully into the corridor.

“Whoah, that’s a _super_ nice bouquet— or, uh— pot full of plants, man. Guessing this’s all for your guy, right? The Nuada dude you’re seeing.”

Boy, John would love to see Nuada’s reaction to hearing this 20-year-old tech-genius call him ‘the Nuada dude’ that John is seeing. It would either result in a scathing diatribe about the lack of respect shown to those in the supernatural community, or it might startle a dark chuckle out of his lover, what with his tumultuous history as somewhat of a black sheep in Bethmoora’s royal line.

In any case, time is running down _quickly_ , and John still has to make it all the way back down to said elvish prince’s quarters _and_ report to the transpo room in time for rollcall and the morning rundown of the mission.

“Thanks, Jared— and yeah, they’re for Nuada. Sorry for the bother, but… oh, actually, yeah. That’s a better idea,” he says, pleasantly surprised. “Thanks again. I’ll see you around!”

Between two of the sturdier, plain green succulents, the vividly rose-hued envelope sits solidly wedged and perfectly upright, even as John pivots and power-walks along the well-known route to his lover’s rooms.

The two flights of stairs are a bit awkward to navigate, but he makes it without much incident, only having to slow down once, when he sees a dark red petal fall from one of the few plants that had serendipitously been in bloom when he’d picked everything up yesterday.

Blowing a breath out, John shakes off the odd tangle of nerves he’s inexplicably feeling the closer he draws to the familiar set of rooms down a blessedly empty hallway downstairs. Then, before he can work himself further into a tizzy wondering how exactly he’s supposed to announce his presence if he has no free hands with which to knock on the door, said door swings open without him having to actually _do_ anything.

Dressed (if one could even label it as such) in nothing more than a low-slung towel about his hips is Nuada, hair and upper body still wet from a shower.

John’s planned little speech evaporates like the droplet of water he watches trail down from one shoulder to the ridges of a well-defined abdomen.

“John? Was my presence requested on your mission today, after all?”

Snapping back to a fully cogitative state, the BPRD agent lifts his traitorous eyes back to Nuada’s, utterly aware that his face is visibly red, what with how the tips of his ears feel hot.

“Wha-? Oh, no— everything’s fine for the mission. I just wanted to give you these and, uh, to wish you a happy Valentine’s Day before I get stuck working this extra-long shift and forget to do it later.”

One of Nuada’s eyebrows raises a miniscule amount as he spies the bright pink envelope wedged between two of the half-dozen little multicolored plants in the pot John is holding.

Embarrassingly for John’s ego, it turns out that Nuada is able to effortlessly hold and balance the sizeable planter in just one hand, still looking slightly confused (but very much pleased) to see John again so soon after they’d gone their separate ways, post weekday morning run.

“Valen- _what_ ’s Day?” the elf says, even as he leans forward to accept a very quick kiss from his younger lover. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Brushing away bits of dry potting soil that had managed to accumulate on the cuffs of his black suit jacket, John determinedly does _not_ lick his lips after the kiss he just shared with his _very_ attractive, amazing-smelling (and tasting) boyfriend.

“Hm? Oh, it’s just a little romantic day for couples to do stuff, I guess. Don’t even worry about it— I’m just a bit of a cheeseball, so… yeah.”

Feeling his phone vibrate with the ‘you’re about to be _late for work_ , idiot!’ alarm he’d set, the BPRD agent brushes an anxious hand down the pressed lines of his suit before leaning forward for one last, irresistible taste of his lover’s dark-stained mouth.

It’s pretty gratifying to see Nuada, then, lick his _own_ lips as John regretfully steps back and fully into the outside hallway.

“I see,” the elf utters absently, watching John with a clear sort of fondness that sets the retreating human’s heart aflutter.

“Alright, I have to run— literally. I’ll see you later on if you’re still free for our usual Friday-night dinner.”

Forcing himself to leave the painfully tempting sight of his half-naked boyfriend, John turns and breaks into a jog that has him quickly reaching the stairwell at the opposite end of the corridor from where he’d entered.

Three minutes later, he arrives to the garage _just_ in time to hear his name called by his team lead for roll call.

*

As it turns out, the ‘big bad’ terrorizing the rural Pennsylvania town they drive to is _actually_ just looking for a Valentine’s date, herself. Or rather, the mini-van-sized, _talking_ — well, telepathic— beetle had just woken up from a three-hundred-year-long nap a week ago and had immediately sought out a mate, as those of her species are apparently wont to do.

By the time the BPRD response team spreads out over the unkempt, abandoned farmland far enough to come across the giant insectoid, she is busy laying out a big circle made purely of free-grown wildflowers that encloses multiple other, concentric circles of different types of flora or found objects.

At its center is the wide, aged stump of what once must have been a majestic maple tree, and just next to that is a sizable hole in the ground that has been dug on a diagonal.

A quick chat with the scarlet red beetle-creature (‘beetle _person_ ’, Naomi from NHR would correct him) reveals that she is in the final stage of courting a mate and that as soon as the other, yet-unseen dire bug accepts her offer, the pair will depart the area.

At that declaration, the BPRD takes her name (a series of clicks that are made aloud with mouth parts that no present humanoid can accurately repeat, but which is recorded for posterity), and tries to help her figure out a nice place to go and have some children. Children which, themselves, will one day burrow deep into the ground for their own multi-century nap before beginning the cycle all over again.

By the time the lot of them are friendly enough with ‘Three Clicks-Chirp-Clack’ to be tossing _personal_ suggestions of nice, remote places to have kids (so long as the place is out of the way of too much human development), John feels comfortable enough to throw out his uncle’s farmland out in West Illinois as a wildcard idea. (It’s not like anybody but John ever goes out to the multiple unused acres of family land, anyway— not since his uncle, the only guardian he’d ever known, had passed a few years back.)

The glossy wings on the beetle’s back shiver and buzz _loudly_ for a moment as her focus shifts to John, and her wispy, gravelly voice fills his head again as she requests details about the land, eventually asking his freely given permission to ‘look it up’ herself.

A pleasant, gentle sort of tickling feeling runs through him, somewhere underneath his scalp and behind his eyes as the excitedly dancing (which is quite the sight for a six-legged creature) insect manages to successfully extract information about the Myers family farm.

Apparently, she’d managed to collect a bit more information about several other things, like the custom of human handshaking, as she holds out one bristly ped to John in a clear invitation to ‘shake on it’.

‘Thank you, Johnmyers,’ she says telepathically to the lot of BPRD agents, already turning back to her task of completing the perfect circle of flower bunches. ‘Your species’ kindness has been noted. If all goes well, we shall leave this place in two or less cycles of the sun.’

John’s fellow agents, nearly all of whom had placed their hands on their sidearms when the huge bug had suddenly swung a proportionately huge arm at Agent Myers, relax and pat him on the back as they usher him back to the two sets of ‘cable tv repair’ vans they had taken out to the site.

“You’re welcome!” He calls back, aloud, helpless again, to resist his overly genial Midwest upbringing. “Good luck, ma’am!”

‘And to you, too, with your Prince, little one…’ is whispered back to him alone, mentally, as they pull away down the long dirt path toward the main road, nearby.

‘Good luck, ma’am!’ is bandied about on the way home for almost 3 straight hours, until even _he_ starts to find the humor in it, too.

Plus, on the upside, he gets back to headquarters a _lot_ earlier than he’d expected, which means he might eventually end up with time to properly freshen up and go find Nuada again for some kind of _proper_ Valentine’s Day date before dinner, later in the evening. Hopefully by the time he gets to the Bethmooran prince’s rooms, he’ll figure out the details of said prospective date…

*

After gently reminding his unit’s head, SSA Rosa Navarro, that he has not only caught up on his paperwork, but is actually _ahead_ on it, John manages to beg off of work mid-afternoon instead of early evening.

“Good luck, ‘ _sir_ ’!” she crows at him as he passes her desk, her glittering hazel eyes filled with mirth.

_Ugh_. Sometimes he regrets joining in on the shit-giving on his team, as close as they are, but hey, if he can dish it out to them…

Rolling his eyes, John raps his knuckles on the corner of her desk, turning sideways as he walks away.

“Thanks, ma’am— I’ll be sure to tell Nuada the chocolates are from you. Oh, and when Matthews gets back from lunch, tell him thanks for the gift… genuinely. He makes the _best_ sugar cookies.”

Momentarily looking a bit like a deer in the headlights when John mentions that she’ll be inadvertently giving a visiting royal dignitary midgrade store-bought chocolate, SSA Navarro suddenly cackles loudly at the way John has all but admitted to having been the culprit behind the decimation of the team’s supply of Christmas cookies over the holiday break.

“Will do! And let me know if your valentine likes the truffles, Myers!” his team lead mischievously calls at him as he leaves the bullpen.

*

Judging by the way Nuada chases after John’s mouth even after he has to pull back to actually _breathe_ , he apparently likes the taste of the chocolate a _lot_. Pressing a hand to the amorous elf’s chest, the younger of the two steps back with what he’s sure is a kiss-drunk smile.

“ _Well_. I’ll tell my boss you like the chocolates from her, then.”

Slinging his jacket over the usual hook inside the entrance to Nuada’s apartment, John retrieves the only cellophane-wrapped truffle he’d managed to leave intact after polishing off the two others he’d been gifted.

“Mm,” Nuada murmurs behind him, his voice moving in the direction of the kitchen. “You taste delectable enough on your own, but true— there was a new and quite… moreish quality to your lips, today.”

At the veritable barrage of compliments, John feels the familiar fluttering rush of excitement in his nerves cause an unavoidable blush to spring up on his cheeks. Turning around after he toes off his shoes, he hears Nuada pulling a few items out of his very rarely utilized refrigerator.

When John rounds the corner to the rather basic, little kitchen, it is to see a grey-dyed, thick wicker basket on the countertop, its confines lined with a blood red, tasseled cloth.

“What…?” he starts, watching as Nuada begins layering a few, small wooden boxes and a set of simple, wooden serving platters into the basket.

From a cupboard underneath the sink, the preoccupied elf snags an ornate, dark glass bottle with a long neck and turns to hand it to John, who is a _bit_ less bewildered, now, as he catches on.

“I made preparations for us to share a private meal on this Day of Saint Valentine,” Nuada says, snagging two stemless wine glasses from a shelf next to the fridge. “I visited Abraham upstairs, earlier, and he was gracious enough to explain the origins and traditions of this holiday in detail.

“From your tone and behavior this morning, it’s clear this day means a fair bit to you, whether or not you have had much cause to celebrate it in the past. Thus, I put together a small picnic after visiting the troll market, this morning.”

The confident Bethmooran prince tests the balance of the basket he has packed (which now includes two precisely placed glasses near the very top) before lifting it up by the sturdy handle and approaching John. Allowing his obviously slightly bewildered human to sort through his words, Nuada lays a proprietary hand on John’s lower back to gently lead him over to a door that the BPRD agent hasn’t paid much attention to before.

“I— oh. Well… yes. I, uh, I _do_ kind of like the idea of a designated day to go all out on the romantic and couple-y stuff. Just… uh, I thought I’d come spend some time with you— maybe read or find a good documentary— and we might go out for dinner, later? Or something?”

John’s aware that only _Nuala_ has the capability to read thoughts or emotions by touch or even very close proximity, but Nuada sometimes has a level of insight into his psyche that makes the mundane human question the veracity of that claim: he really, _really_ like Valentine’s day, and has never really had a partner care about it at all, on the very few occasions in the past he’s _had_ a partner to celebrate it with.

At his side, Nuada uses his elbow to ease open the door to what John imagines is an office-slash-workroom for the suite. Instead, what they walk into is a veritable greenhouse— or some kind of impossible indoor ‘garden’, with plants of all shapes and sizes growing to ridiculous size and climbing up the occasional wall, shelf, or forgotten stepstool.

Technically, they’re on the ‘bottom floor’ (except for the ‘restricted’ floor down one level), but it is still ground level, so two walls are taken up by fairly large sets of tall windows. Bright, afternoon sunlight beams all over the somewhat sizable room, leaving shafts of white-gold to illuminate a number of utterly unfamiliar— and in some cases, otherworldly— flora at every turn.

“Many of these plants are native to my homeland and have yet to be grown anywhere else in the world,” Nuada says, placing the full basket carefully down atop a large, dark red blanket that had been lain across the soil and grass-covered ‘floor’ of the repurposed office.

“Some are more common, and there, just next to you, are the exotic plants you gifted me; I have never cared for the likes of them myself, as their natural habitat is so different than that of Bethmoora and I could not keep anything permanently while estranged and traveling. Thank you for furthering a past time I have only recently begun to cultivate again for the first time in a very long time, Dearest.”

Thinking fast to avoid saying anything that’s _too_ emotional or sentimental to a guy he’s only been dating for a month and a half, John takes a moment to sit down on the blanket, placing the big bottle of what he assumes is wine down on the corner of the gigantic square of fabric in the process.

“Course! Glad you like them,” he simply says, eyeballing the way that the majority of succulents and cacti that he’d dropped off earlier are not just arranged nicely in their own chosen little corner, but are _thriving_ and have blown through a few months’ worth of growth just since this morning.

Green thumb doesn’t even _begin_ to describe the other man’s affinity with nature— and with plants specifically.

After he’s satisfactorily arranged the wooden platters, the two glasses, and the small collection of glazed, wooden boxes along the finely made, red blanket, Nuada moves so he is seated much nearer to John.

“Abraham indicated that a time-tested activity for a romantic date is a picnic with one’s partner in a relaxing or interesting location, so I prepared this bit of a repast and chose my garden,” he explains, opening the handful of boxes to reveal a small selection of cheeses, preserved meats, and whole fruits.

The level of care and thoughtfulness that had gone into this date in just the half-day that John had been at work is mind-blowing to the young man who is more used to being ostracized than prioritized by others. To keep from getting mildly hysterical or any level of over-emotional and thereby embarrassing himself in front of the _literal royalty_ that is his boyfriend, he grins and looks down for a moment, managing to stay outwardly even-keeled.

“I… this is _great_ — _beautiful_ , Nuada. Thanks.”

When John looks up to meet golden eyes, he finds that they’re strangely soft with whatever emotion is dancing along between them as they gaze stupidly at one another like lovesick fools.

“Ah. Of… of course, John,” Nuada says at length, seemingly shaking himself out of whatever state of distraction he’d been in. “Now let me introduce you to some items you have likely never tried before.”

With a looser smile and expression, John laces his fingers with Nuada’s and allows the elf to explain the origins of the foodstuffs laid out before them.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...everybody ships it. Even the giant, telepathic bug.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut! (And I guess some plot almost?)

The impromptu lunch picnic goes very well, and between the two of them, they finish off nearly everything Nuada had packed, excluding the expensive fae wine, which had only taken a half glass to have John feeling a bit tipsy— a state that his lover had achieved after triple the amount, not that he showed any sign of it, save for being a bit more grabby than usual.

Which is how they’d ended up shoving the picnic basket and dishes and glasses aside to leave room to make out like horny teenagers on the blanket. Not long after Nuada had simply hauled John into his lap to facilitate more satisfying contact, John had escalated things by pressing Nuada down, flat on his back, atop the rouched-up blanket.

At some point, Nuada had regained some level of sense, though, and had convinced John that there was an infinitely more comfortable bed inside his regular bedroom where they could continue their activities.

_That_ had led to where they find themselves, now: _still_ making out, but against the wall just inside Nuada’s bedroom— only ten or fifteen feet away from the long-ago-mentioned bed.

With a groan, John leans back to take a breath, leaving enough space between their bodies to whip, first, his nice button-up shirt and then his undershirt over his head, Nuada’s knuckles brushing over his waist when he impatiently helps tug the plain, white tee up and over mussed chestnut locks.

Cool air prickles against the BPRD agent’s freshly bared skin and he watches hungrily as Nuada follows his example and begins undressing.

Supernaturally pale, ash-white skin is revealed as the prince undoes hidden toggles and clasps that keep his blood-red tunic’s asymmetrical lapels joined together. (It’s tempting to touch, but John knows his fumbling hands would only get in the way of the semi-intricate process.)

As a moth to flame, John’s gaze is drawn toward the sight of the toned, solid upper body that is cast in dimmed, tawny sunlight. A pair of gold-yellow eyes glint with returned heat when his gaze wanders back up to the sculpted face of his lover, and soon they crash together again with increasing fervor, hands wandering and groping with abandon over heated flesh.

The BPRD agent completely forgets to pick up his shirts from where he tossed them, enmeshed as he is in another passionate embrace with Nuada, nipping hungrily at dark lips as he all but climbs the other man.

Weapon-calloused hands make quick work of the front of John’s pants and the younger man nearly wilts when nimble hands give his erection a few firm strokes within the confines of his underwear.

“Fu- _fuck_ , oh _fuck_ ,” he breathes, leaning his head on Nuada’s shoulder and panting for a second at the bolt of hot pleasure.

It’s been a very long, _very_ busy couple of weeks, with what seems like half the base down due to a particularly brutal flu season, so bouts of intimacy with his boyfriend have been rare. Thus, it’s not _too_ embarrassing that he forgets to be an active participant for a few, dazed moments before getting back with the program and starting to working at Nuada’s pants in turn.

A few seconds later, each man inelegantly kicks away their remaining clothing and underwear as they simultaneously reach for one another

Whey they come back into contact, an eager sound emits from Nuada, whose breath silently hitches before he leans back in and crushes their mouths together. The erotic tangling of their tongues and the breaths they exchange as they each diligently pleasure one another distracts the sex-addled human enough that he doesn’t notice when he is briefly pressed closer to the wall at his back while Nuada’s free hand reaches out somewhere to their side.

He _does_ notice, though, the addition of a slightly chilly slippery substance that turns the somewhat rough drag of each of their grips into slick caresses over one another’s most intimate, sensitive parts. In his right mind, John would have deduced that Nuada must have coaxed some gel from the nearby potted aloe vera plant, but in the moment, all he knows is that the frictionless glide of a hand on his dick is catapulting him towards orgasm at a ridiculous pace.

With a desperate, breathy sound, John’s head thumps back against the wall as he tries to control the rate at which his hips buck forward into the unrelenting grip around his pulsing member. Through dogged perseverance, he manages to continue bringing Nuada off with one of his hands— thoroughly distracted brain be damned.

Sweat dapples his forehead and increasing waves of euphoria swirl in his lower abdomen as he starts nearing his inexorable peak.

Nuada licks over his dark lips before breathing out a gravelly “John,” eyes half-lidded, but burning with intense passion that only has his younger lover feeling even hotter.

“Ah, _Nuada_ …” he gasps out, grasping at the nape of the elf’s neck with his free hand as those very same wicked lips find their way to the hinge of his jaw and leave sucking kisses down his throat.

Shuddering, he moans and tilts his head to give Nuada space to work with, but instead, the warrior prince pulls back to drink in John’s pleasure-dazed expression, suddenly speeding up his hand’s theretofore measured pace on the human’s member.

The younger man cries out and gazes up into lust-darkened eyes imploringly, biting his lower lip soon after in a short-lived, futile attempt to keep quiet.

“Yes, John. Nnh… _esstal_. You— _gods—_ you are… _mine_ ,” the elf says gruffly, fucking into the sporadically tightening, distracted grip around his own manhood.

[( _esstal_ \- mine)]

“D— ah— _dosstal_ , Nuada. _Avrath…_ ” John pants out, breath short as he teeters on the edge of completion, time stretching on interminably for several drawn-out seconds.

[( _dosstal_ \- yours; _avrath_ \- please)]

“Mm, _mela’ess,”_ Nuada growls, suddenly leaning back in to bite down on the space between John’s neck and shoulder— _hard_.

[( _mela’ess_ \- my love)]

Between that and the breakneck rate at which Nuada’s fisting his dick, the younger man finally reaches his climax, coming with a hastily stifled series of crescendoing keens. The hot tongue laving over the newly tender spot on his neck and the weapon-calloused hand continuing to slowly stroke over his diminishing erection buoy and prolong the delectable, heady waves of pleasure still diffusing through his nerves.

“ _Oh_ ,” he eventually sighs, feeling more like a blissful puddle of contentedness than a person as he begins to come down from a rather magnificent post-orgasmic high.

“Mm,” Nuada groans, grinding his dick into his rapturous lover’s hip while stealing a quick kiss from slightly parted, reddened lips. “ _Beautiful_ , my John.”

Being incapable of properly blushing due to the fact that his face is already flushed with exertion, John just grins beatifically at the impassioned praise before taking notice of the fact that his hand has almost completely ceased moving over Nuada’s arousal.(Which probably explains the trail of precome all over his hip and lower stomach, where the elf has undoubtedly sought additional stimulation to his neglected, still very much hard dick.)

Getting his head back on right proves difficult when he sees exactly how affected the Bethmooran native is _just_ from having watched John come undone: it makes something both tender and fierce rise up within him, re-energizing his fervent devotion to getting his amazing boyfriend to _also_ come his brains out.

Angling Nuada’s head for a quick, heated kiss, first, John then puts his full attention and expertise into the handjob, paying little notice to the mess that Nuada’s cum-covered hand is leaving on his asscheek, where it intermittently grips with some strength. (His entire abdomen is already also covered in his own jizz, but a bit of mess has never held him up during sex, before, so he pays neither any mind.)

Just as the elf’s breath begins to get noticeably stilted, John abruptly taps at his chest to get some space for himself from where Nuada’s drawn him in close enough to allow him to nuzzle at the human’s perspiration-wet temple. Growling a bit when John dares to slow the rapid pull-twist-rub-repeat motion over his member— and _wow_ , does he look dazed and dark-eyed, John marvels nonsensically— Nuada subsides quickly when his lover changes tack, his intention immediately evident. 

Nipping briefly at the elf’s jaw, John then uses his own lips to map out the journey down Nuada’s toned upper body, letting his still-occupied hand adopt a more leisurely pace for the half minute his mouth takes to meander down far enough to reach its final destination.

“ _John_ ,” Nuada’s voice rumbles, breathy at the edges, as desire-filled greenish-blue eyes glance up at him.

Only once he’s at eye level with his target does the younger man stop his manual ministrations. It’s clear that Nuada is still fairly worked up, as the moment the head touches John’s tongue, the whole phallus jerks slightly and issues a fair amount of precome.

From there, John dedicates himself to this new task: diligently bobbing his head up and down the rigid member, gradually getting as close to deep-throating the sizeable organ as he can without fear of gagging.

“ _Gods—_ John. _John_ ,” Nuada groans with fierce awe, brushing John’s sweat-lank hair from his forehead with his clean hand and pumping his hips as much as he’s able with the other’s comfort in mind.

A new wave of tingling heat snakes up John’s spine and he feels his _own_ dick twitch at the utterly uncontrolled words and sounds escaping the typically-stoic elf. The smooth, gliding pace of Nuada’s thrusts begins hastening and becoming more irregular, and a few choice phrases are uttered breathlessly as he chases his long-awaited orgasm.

Among the unfamiliar words in elvish, the Bethmooran noble sprinkles in the occasional ‘beautiful’ and ‘mine’ in English, leaving the tips of John’s ears burning red.

And then, that tremulous moment of calm where Nuada finally stills above John arrives. A protracted groan leaves the elf’s mouth and he curls over John’s kneeling form, flinging out the soiled hand (the one that _hadn’t_ been on the younger man’s head) to hold his hunched form up with the help of the wall.

“Nnh— _yes_ …” he breathes, panting, as John dutifully swallows around his erection, slowly lessening the super intense amount of suction around his pulsing, softening shaft, knowing from experience that Nuada gets over-sensitive fairly quickly after coming.

When John finally fully pulls away, licking his grinning lips unselfconsciously, and passing the heel of his hand over the corner of his mouth where excess saliva has seeped down, Nuada smoothly straightens up before bringing his lover with him.

Uncaring of the lingering taste of himself, he presses deep, amorous, love-drunk kisses to John’s lips which share the same smile as his now do.

*

Eventually, after they fully wind down, John chuckles before raising an eyebrow and tilting his head towards the untouched bed a short distance across the room where they’d never managed to reach.

Nuada’s smile widens at the gesture.

“We’ve done worse, than not making it to an actual bed while _in a bedroom_ , I’m sure,” he drily intones, to John’s amusement.

“Pfft,” the human chortles. “I’m sure. We’d have to ask your sister or Abe… or Wink for the full list, though, since you just _love_ to scandalize others whenever you’re feeling ‘impatient’, you horndog.”

The phrase ‘horndog’, as many other strange colloquialisms do, makes Nuada’s face crinkle disgustedly in a way that never ceases to make John laugh. _God_ , if the visiting Bethmooran prince didn’t already hate Hellboy for being a complete dick to John, he’d _definitely_ hate him for all the weird phrases and slang he adopts from TV and the internet.

“Of course,” Nuada drawls, as John leaves the bedroom to retrieve the shirts he’d unintentionally tossed past the doorway earlier. “ _I’m_ the only one with any sort of libido. A likely tale…”

John’s response is to simply press the ball of fabric he’s carrying on top of the rest of the clothing that Nuada’s been picking up from nearby where they’d just been standing (and, in his case, kneeling) minutes ago.

“Speaking of traumatizing your friends and family with the sight of either of our bare asses, want to lever your power as an influential, very powerful foreign dignitary to do me a Valentine’s Day favor and—”

“Have your ‘dry cleaning’ sent out for you? Of course. Although, this clearly isn’t something specific to this holiday, since it is at least the fifth or sixth occas-” Nuada replies, neatly hanging John’s crumpled suit on a spare set of hangers from a wardrobe by the bed.

His voice carries easily as he then enters the bathroom with two towels in hand from a small drawer at the very bottom of the wardrobe.

“ _Okay_ ,” the flustered BPRD agent interrupts. “So I can be a bit lazy… but the good dry cleaning place is so _far_ from headquarters. And besides, _I_ still pay, anyway, when I pick everything up.”

The slight squeak of a knob reluctantly turning precedes the sound of the shower starting in the bathroom, and Nuada re-enters the bedroom while the water heats up. As if in reaction to the imminent shower, the dried cum on John’s stomach, and the bits left on his ass thanks to Nuada’s roaming hand, earlier, finally begin to feel itchy.

Passing the chair over which his own clothing is laid out flat, Nuada heads back into the bathroom, tying his hair up in a messy topknot to keep it out of the spray of water, not wishing to deal with wet hair at this point in the afternoon.

“Mm— would you like for me to cover your expenses at this ‘dry cleaners’? Or perhaps see to it that they are not unduly charging you a certain amount?”

The sound of a bar of soap clanging against the shower floor is loud and jars John into entering the bathroom as he replies.

“Wh— no, _not_ what I was getting at. But thanks, Babe. Let me just get in here so I can wash all the dried cum off and then take an afternoon nap before we figure out what exactly is for dinner.”

Chuckling, Nuada motions for him to close the door since steam has begun rolling into the far cooler bedroom.

“Of _course_ : anything for _my Valentine_.”

(As it turns out, John’s blush is discernable, even on top of how red the heat of the shower turns his lovely skin.)

Valentine’s Day might just be a worthwhile holiday, after all, Nuada concludes, in spite of it being utterly, unapologetically _human_ in origin.

*

Quite some time passes in comfortable silence after their shower, both of them _finally_ gravitating to the respectably large (and comfortable) bed. Nuada sits against the pillow-cushioned headboard reading a book on hydroponics, of all things, that he’d been recommended by the odd Icthyo Sapiens his sister is so enchanted by. His human paramour, having read through several messages on his handheld, electronic device, relaxes with his head in Nuada’s lap.

Chestnut locks that are barely damp (save for in the occasional patch) slide lissomely between the elf’s nimble fingers as he soothes his routinely overworked human into staying abed long enough to actually _rest_ for a few hours. Still, he cannot help but to affirm to his praise (and romance)-starved paramour that the day— or the afternoon, rather— had been a good one.

“This ‘Saint Valentine’s Day’ is a fairly pleasant holiday, as mortal days of celebration go. The brightly-coloured note you gave me with those exotic plants this morning was sentimental and very thoughtful; it brings to mind the way that I wish to… open up to you more as we go forward, if I am able.”

Humming at the pleasant pressure still grazing over his head, John smiles and slightly hides his face by turning further into the silky fabric of Nuada’s lounge bottoms.

“And I appreciate your going to the effort to learn more elvish as well,” the once-banished prince continues, absently tracing the shell of a characteristically round, human ear while lowering his book to the bed with his other hand. “It’s impressive that you managed to not only hold onto that knowledge, but to so… _effectively_ use it in such ‘ _extenuating_ ’ circumstances.”

Smiling pleasantly for a moment at the rare sound of Nuada chuckling, John suddenly frowns when he processes his lover’s words.

“Wait- I… what? I haven’t had _time_ for any more lessons with Nuala these last few weeks. Did I— did I say something earlier?” he asks, feeling a prickle of unease invade the lazy, soporific lassitude that has infused his body since climbing into bed.

Just at the edge of his awareness, something flickers, then, like the remnants of a forgotten dream, trying to break through the barrier of his conscious mind, but with how his thoughts are occupied by growing anxiety, he hardly registers it before he is distracted again.

Quick to ease his lover’s distress, Nuada moves his book over to the bedside table and smooths a hand down John’s cheek before leaning down to peck slightly downturned lips reassuringly.

“Oh? In that case, I likely misheard you. We were, the both of us, _very_ distracted for quite a while. I daresay that your ‘oral aptitude’ might have addled my perception of anything other than what your mouth was doing.”

Smiling again, John rolls his eyes and relaxes fully back into his position.

“Good _God_ — please stop. To think, HB and most of the BPRD are convinced you spend your whole day glaring and scowling and just being a douchebag of epic proportions. Maybe I _did_ deserve to literally stumble upon you in a tatty robe and my underwear over Christmas break...”

Cringing first at the absolutely distasteful moniker of ‘douchebag’, Nuada ends up simply huffing at his increasingly sleep-silly bedmate. Beginning to pet at soft, brunette hair, again, Nuada picks up his book, even as his mind begins to wander.

“I think we _do_ deserve _each other_ , John,” he says absently, but sincerely. “Now get some sleep.”

Almost before he’s done speaking, the tired human does just that, Nuada waiting a scant minute before smoothly lowering his head to rest on a pillow so that the younger man won’t wake up with a stiff neck.

Glancing consideringly at the placid face of John Myers, the immortal being quickly runs through several options for dealing with something he has long-suspected— ever since the very first time he’d met his mundane partner, actually.

Perhaps if there is time tomorrow, he'll pick Abraham’s formidable mind about _how_ exactly John had most definitely spoken a dated dialect of Bethmooran elvish absolutely _perfectly_ , earlier, without ever having learned it. Or perhaps his sister, who has spent a decent amount of time getting to know the future subject of Nuada’s official courtship, might share his same theory about what exactly is going on.

If need be, he will get in contact with Bethmoora— personally. Perhaps with John in tow, if all goes well when he begins his official courtship of the young human.

Too many happy coincidences have been at hand since coming here, to New Jersey, and elves, as a rule, do _not_ believe in coincidences. Not when there are established things like divine providence and destiny to rely upon, instead.

_FIN_

* * *

**_Esstal_** \- Mine. _(_ Bethmooran Elvish _)_

 ** _Dosstal_** \- Yours. _(_ Bethmooran Elvish _)_

 _ **Avrath** \- _Please. _(_ Bethmooran Elvish _)_

 ** _Mela'ess_** \- My Love. _(_ Bethmooran Elvish _)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... my muse really Did That. Who knew I'd ever come back to this AU. haha
> 
> Here's to hoping they both stop trying to play it cool and get to talking about their Deeper Feelings if I ever come back to this AU again. Whew! Like, boys.... just use your words!
> 
> (Also, pray for 2020 to be the year I figure out how to comfortably (and efficiently) write an ending to a fic. Ugh...)
> 
> P.S. Added 3 new chapters to [When Kings May](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16369988) if anyone survived the 10 month wait...
> 
> *  
> Come check out [my writing blog](https://dovahdoes.tumblr.com/), where I post early fic snippets and keep you updated on what i'm working on in what fandoms!
> 
>   
> Kudos and comments are love: feel free to leave me some, kind readers~. (ღˇ◡ˇ)~♥


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